What's in a Name? Part II

Why do we bestow people's names on volatile storms?
The history of hurricane nomenclature has changed over the years...

For as long as people have been tracking and reporting hurricanes, also known as tropical cyclones, they’ve been struggling to find ways to identify them. Until well into the 20th century, newspapers and forecasters in the United States devised names for storms that referenced their time period, geographic location or intensity; hence, the Great Hurricane of 1722, the Galveston Storm of 1900, the Labor Day Hurricane of 1935 and the Big Blow of 1913. Meanwhile, hurricanes in the tempestuous West Indies were named for the Catholic saint’s days on which they made landfall.

The pioneering Australian weatherman Clement Wragge began assigning names to tropical cyclones in the late 19th century, initially using the letters of the Greek alphabet and characters from Greek and Roman mythology. An eccentric and playful fellow, he later turned to the names of local politicians he particularly disliked; as a result, he was able to state in public forecasts that the officials were “causing great distress” or “wandering aimlessly about the Pacific.” Needless to say, Wragge’s subtly hostile approach didn’t take the meteorology profession by storm.

During World War II, U.S. Air Force and Navy meteorologists plotting storms over the Pacific needed a better way to denote hurricanes while analyzing weather maps. Many began paying tribute to their wives and girlfriends back home by naming tropical cyclones after them. In 1945 the newly formed National Weather Bureau—later the National Weather Service—introduced a system based on the military phonetic alphabet, but by 1953 the options had been exhausted. The next year, the bureau embraced forecasters’ informal practice of giving hurricanes women’s names. Because America led the world in weather tracking technology at the time, many other countries adopted the new nomenclature.

By the 1960s, some feminists began taking issue with the gendered naming convention. Most vocal among them was a National Organization for Women member from the Miami area named Roxcy Bolton, whose many accomplishments throughout a lifetime of activism include founding women’s shelters and rape crisis centers, helping to end sexist advertising, achieving maternity leave for flight attendants and eradicating all-male dining rooms in Florida restaurants. In the early 1970s Bolton chided the National Weather Service for their hurricane naming system, declaring, “Women are not disasters, destroying life and communities and leaving a lasting and devastating effect.” Perhaps taking a cue from Clement Wragge, she recommended senators—who, she said, “delight in having things named after them”—as more appropriate namesakes for storms.

In 1979, the National Weather Service and the World Meteorological Association finally switched to an alternating inventory of both men’s and women’s names. (Bolton’s senator-based plan was rejected, however, as was her proposal to replace the word “hurricane”—which she thought sounded too close to “her-icane”—with “him-icane.”) In recent years, the lists of names, which are predetermined and rotate every six years, have been further diversified to reflect the many regions where tropical cyclones strike. Names of devastating storms with major loss of life and economic impact, such as Katrina in 2005 and Andrew in 1992, are permanently retired.

As Hurricane Irene continues to batter the Bahamas and churn toward the northeastern United States, some may be wondering why this menacing swirl of peril goes by such an innocuous name. She tightened her aim on the Eastern Seaboard Thursday, threatening 65 million people along a shore-hugging path from North Carolina to New England. One of the nation's top experts called it his "nightmare" scenario.

The Category 3 storm with winds of 115 mph – the threshold for a major hurricane – would be the strongest to strike the East Coast in seven years, and people were already getting out of the way. Tens of thousands fled North Carolina beach towns, farmers pulled up their crops, and the Navy ordered ships to sea so they could endure the punishing wind and waves in open water.

All eyes are on Irene's projected path, which shows it bringing misery to every city along the I-95 corridor, including Washington, New York and Boston. The former chief of the National Hurricane Center called it one of his three worst possible situations. "One of my greatest nightmares was having a major hurricane go up the whole Northeast Coast," Max Mayfield, the center's retired director. He said the damage will probably climb into billions of dollars: "This is going to have an impact on the United States economy."

The head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency said damages could exceed most previous storms because so many people live along the East Coast and property values are high." We've got a lot more people that are potentially in the path of this storm," FEMA Director Craig Fugate said in an interview with The Associated Press. "This is one of the largest populations that will be impacted by one storm at one time." The storm would "have a lot of impact well away from the coastline," he added. "A little bit of damage over big areas with large populations can add up fast."

Irene is massive, with tropical-force winds extending almost twice as far as normal, about the same size as Katrina, which devastated New Orleans in 2005. "It's not going to be a Katrina, but it's serious," said MIT meteorology professor Kerry Emanuel. "People have to take it seriously." The governors of North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New York and New Jersey declared emergencies to free up resources, and authorities all the way to New England urged residents in low-lying areas to gather supplies and learn the way to a safe location. Irene is expected to come ashore Saturday in North Carolina with 115 mph winds and a storm surge of 5 to 10 feet. Warnings were out for the entire coast. It could dump a foot of rain, with as much as 15 inches falling in some places along the coast and around Chesapeake Bay. With heavy rain and storm surge predicted for the nation's capital, organizers postponed Sunday's dedication of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial on the National Mall.

Already in South Florida near West Palm Beach, authorities blame the rough ocean churned up by the outer bands of Irene for injuring eight people when a wave knocked them off a jetty. Scientists predict Irene will chug up the coast. Some forecasts showed it taking dead aim at New York City, with its eye passing over Brooklyn and Manhattan before weakening and trudging through New England. If the storm strikes New York, it will probably be a Category 1 or 2, depending on its exact track, hurricane specialist John Cangialosi said. Hurricanes are rare in the Northeast because the region's cooler seas tend to weaken storms as they approach, and they have to take a narrow track to strike New York without first hitting other parts of the coast and weakening there. Still, strong storms have been known to unleash serious damage in an urban environment already surrounded by water.

A September 1821 hurricane raised tides by 13 feet in an hour and flooded all of Manhattan south of Canal Street – an area that now includes the nation's financial capital. An infamous 1938 storm dubbed the Long Island Express came ashore about 75 miles east of the city and then hit New England, killing 700 people and leaving 63,000 homeless. On Thursday, Ocean City, Md., officials ordered thousands of residents and tourists to abandon the beach community. "This is not a time to get out the camera and sit on the beach and take pictures of the waves," said Maryland Gov. Martin O'Malley.

Earlier in North Carolina, three coastal counties issued evacuation orders covering more than 200,000 people, including tourists and full-time residents. President Barack Obama declared an emergency for the state, allowing for federal help.

Dania Armstrong of New York sat outside a motel smoking a cigarette while she waited for her family to get ready. Armstrong, her daughter and grandchildren had already been ordered off the island of Ocracoke and planned to leave the town of Buxton soon. "I've been coming down here for 50 years," she said. "I know what's coming. It's time to leave. You don't want to be here when it hits."

Other year-round residents plan to ride it out, despite warnings from authorities that they will be on their own immediately after the storm. "If you leave, you can't get back for days because of the roads, and you don't know what's going on with your property," said Kathy MacKenzie, who works at Dillon's Corner, a general store in Buxton. Ollie Jarvis, the store's owner, said he's staying and preparing for the worst. During Hurricane Emily in 1993, his store was flooded with 18 inches of water and sand from a storm surge. Like a spear, the water pushed a T-shirt rack filled with clothes through the ceiling. They still have the high-water mark on a wall near the cash register. "I can't leave. You have to worry about the stuff you have and save what you can," he said.

Bobby Overbey of Virginia Beach, Va., pulled into a gas station in his Jeep with two surfboards hanging on the back. He planned to stay, despite the evacuation orders. Usually the waves top out at 2 to 3 feet. On Thursday, he was riding 4- and 5-foot waves. "You live for this," he said.

Farmers grimly accepted the fate of their crops. Strong winds and widespread flooding could mean billions of dollars in losses for corn, cotton, soybean, tobacco and timber growers. While most farmers have disaster insurance, policies often pay only about 70 percent of actual losses.

Wilson Daughtry owns Alligator River Growers near Engelhard, near Pamlico Sound. Though he is under a mandatory evacuation order, Daughtry and his workers planned to stay to salvage what corn and squash they can. He said he's lost count of how many times his crops have been wiped out by storms. "Hurricanes are just part of doing business down here," he said.

In Virginia, officials recalled Hurricane Isabel in 2003, which came ashore as a Category 1, killed more than 30 people and caused more than $1 billion in property damage. The low-lying Hampton Roads region is at high risk of flooding from storm surge and heavy rains. Widespread power outages are likely. The Navy ordered many of its ships at Norfolk Naval Station out to sea to wait out the storm, including the aircraft carrier USS Dwight Eisenhower, as well as destroyers and submarines. Gearing up for approaching hurricanes is an almost annual occurrence in coastal North Carolina and Virginia, so planning is extensive and almost second-nature. Building codes along the Outer Banks require structures to be reinforced to withstand sustained winds of up to 110 mph and gusts up to 130 mph. Houses close to the water must be elevated on pilings to keep them above storm surges, and required setbacks preserve sand dunes to provide additional protection.

In Washington, where residents were rattled by a rare earthquake Tuesday, officials warned people to be prepared for stormy conditions regardless of Irene's exact path and to stay away from the beaches in the region.

The Philadelphia area could get more than a half-foot of rain, accompanied by sustained winds up to 50 mph. Mayor Michael Nutter said it could be the worst storm in at least 50 years. August has already been one of the rainiest months in city history. New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie asked all visitors to the shore to get out by midday Friday. He said Irene was poised to be a "serious, significant event," with flooding a threat across the entire state. A mandatory evacuation was ordered for Cape May County. In a normal hurricane, tropical storm-force winds extend about 150 miles from the eye. Irene's winds extend nearly 250 miles.

Another worry is that the ground is already saturated in the Northeast after a wet spring and summer. That means trees and power lines will be more vulnerable to winds, like during Hurricane Isabel. New York is especially susceptible with its large subway network and the waterways around the city, Mayfield said. "In many ways, a Category 2 or stronger storm hitting New York is a lot of people's nightmare," said Susan Cutter, director of the Hazards and Vulnerability Research Institute at the University of South Carolina. High water in the harbor and rivers, along with a high tide at the end of the month because of the new moon, could cause serious flooding. New York's three airports are close to the water, putting them at risk, too, Cutter said. If the storm shifts further to the west, placing New York City on the stronger right-hand quadrant of the storm, "that is what's going to push this wall of water into the bays and the Hudson River."

Borenstein reported from Washington. Associated Press writers Patrick Walters in Philadelphia, Beth DeFalco in Ewing, N.J., and Michael Biesecker in Engelhard, N.C., also contributed to this report.
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Back to the original question: Why do we bestow people's names on volatile storms?Stormy weather is attached to mine.

Hurricane Camille, the USA's second strongest 20th century hurricane, rated category 5, hit the Gulf Coast in 1969. Centered about 250 miles south of Mobile, Ala., an Air Force reconnaissance plane measured a barometric pressure of 26.84 inches of mercury and winds of more than 200 mph. Camille was expected to push a 12-foot storm surge ashore when it hit Mississippi. But the Air Force observation prompted forecasters to alert local officials to a surge maybe twice that high. Wade Guice, who was then civil defense director for Harrison County, Miss., said the warning prompted additional, last-minute evacuations. He characterized the plane's report as "the difference between survival and 10,000 tombstones."

In its aftermath, the storm was called the greatest catastrophe ever to strike the United States and perhaps the most significant economic weather event in the world's history. For many, Camille is a distant memory, a historical footnote. But Camille was also a harbinger of disasters to come. More storms of Camille's intensity will strike, the only question is when. This report reviews the Camille experience with an eye to lessons learned and lessons lost from that event. The subtext of this report is that many of the lessons of Camille have been relearned in subsequent hurricane impacts with hurricanes Agnes, Frederic, Alicia, Hugo, Andrew, Opal, and so forth.

For the most part, society acknowledges its need to improve response to hurricanes. The greatest challenge we face is to turn that knowledge into practical action. Another storm like Camille might open a window of opportunity to improve the nation's hurricane policies, but it would be far better if, instead of waiting for that future storm, we learned the lessons that history has already provided.

Source(s): History.com & Aol.com excerpts Changing History of Hurricane Nomenclature, http://sciencepolicy.colorado.edu/about_us/meet_us/roger_pielke/camille/report.html